Mirishira Accel World: Episode Two
by Tusjecht
Summary: Did acceleration solve his problems? The tired boy's answer is no longer the same. Instead, Brain Burst has only alienated him from his friends and the girl he calls his sister. As he tries to patch up broken bridges with his bare hands, a Christmas Event looms closer and closer. A sequel to I don't know a millimetre about Accel World!
1. Chapter 1

**Mirishira Accel World – Episode Two**  
><strong>Begins.<strong>

_Where students with troubled histories are concerned, the counsellor attached to their school is to be updated of their situation and to follow up regularly. Their objective is to assess and remedy to their fullest ability the mental health of the student body, such that our society will bloom healthy within._

_-The prime directive of the newly-created Ministry of Young Adults, affectionately acronymed '_MiYA_'_

—

Years ago, the cult group, thought long-erased from Japanese minds, revived itself and struck terror into the heart of the Land of the Rising Sun. Aum Shinrikyo, fuelled by young, restless, and troubled minds, capitalised on lax government, easy recruitment through loopholes, and passed itself off under legitimate names and aliases until the first car bomb struck.

The bomb, fortunately, had prematurely exploded a mere kilometre from the sacred Imperial Palace. But it had still dealt massive damage nearby an elementary school, the buildings, and the people near it. In the months of aftermath, the government nearly got itself voted out and took equally desperate measures to save itself.

The fruits of one such effort was a counsellor in every school to personally monitor and track young, traumatised children. Expensive as it were, some schools bit the bullet and kept the counsellors. And just to keep them busy, all other existing cases the school had identified but never acted on were turned over to their counsellor.

Which is why on a Friday afternoon, the young, underpaid, and overworked Ms Morihara Rei called up four students, one after the other, to visit her office on the virtually unused fifth floor of the staff block.

—

*Knocks*

**Please come in!**

Please excuse me.

**You are Gekkagawa Mikiseki, correct?**

Yes, m'am.

**You may address me as Ms Morihara, Mikiseki. As you might know, I'm your school counsellor; I'm obligated to inform you that anything and everything within this office will be kept in strict confidence. Speak freely as you wish, but do answer my question to the best of your ability.**

Yes, Ms Morihara.

**Now, Gekkagawa… My, my. That's a long name you have, dear!**

Thank you, m'am.

(She nods politely)

**Which class are you from, my dear?**

Class 2-B.

**Are you worried about your exams?**

Yes, m'am.

**I see. Study hard, okay?**

(She does not reply, but instead smiles cryptically.)

**Now, my dear, is there anything about your past that you'd like to share with me?**

"…"

—

The Beautiful Girl: Gekkagawa Mikseki

—

It's not a nice thing to see your family members die in front of you. Some look away from it, bury it within their hearts and refuse to talk about it until it becomes painful. Others, I suppose, dare to embrace it, overcome it, transform that into a drive to greater heights.

My father had simple roots. He grew barley and wheat in greenhouses, using old-school hydroponics and aeroponic watering systems to grow them in his tiny greenhouse. But he needed to strike it somehow to get out of the poverty cycle…

He had found his friend-turned-business partner, and turned it into, what else! Beer. It took a long time for him to craft a formulae that appealed to everyone at a reasonable price. He had met Mother by then; God knows how hard they had to tighten their belts to pull through the hard times.

And when he struck it, he struck it hard! He's the reason why Migiwa Beer is now the national top-selling brand for low-content, non-alcoholic, and premium beer! We moved to Hokkaido into a nice home.

And then he realised, he really needs someone to carry on the business. There's a lot of men who could, but I think he found the idea of blood being thicker than water his paramount reasoning. But at the same time, Mother had just reached 40, the tail end of her fertile years, and he was already hitting his fifties…

They paid for the IVF after a lot of attempts. My pregnancy – how odd, I should say my mother's pregnancy – was truly a miracle even by today's standards. Had my mother tried artificial reproduction in early 2020s, she would have been shown the door straightaway, isn't it?

When I was younger, my parents showered their happiness on me. They were strict, yes. I was expected to ace school while I was young, and then I would be groomed to take over my father's breweries. Notwithstanding that alcohol is an overwhelmingly man-dominated industry, my father… He held high expectations of me. And like all I had accomplished, I was sure I would, too.

And there was the night he died.

If I had to compare it to something, I guess, it's people using the same things they sell. Car salesmen driving their own cars for test spins, then getting into accidents. A cram-school teacher sitting down to try the exam paper himself, and realising just how awful some of the questions can be. Or a beer brewer tasting his own alcohol to make sure the taste is always right, every day, without a break…

I… I… Until now, I just can't accept it. If it was good for our family, why did the very thing that Dad worked so hard on to give me and Mum a good life take his? He wasn't even making something dangerous, so why did his own beer kill him?

I refuse to accept it. I don't care if they said it was a heart attack, brought on by all that alcohol, whatever nya da nya da. Dad was a good person and he didn't deserve to die!

…Sorry, I got too caught up with myself. Please forgive me.

I made this vow to myself afterwards. I… I want to save him. Even if in memory… surely there are other people who work hard, yet die out of misfortune, right? I can't remember their names and faces, the doctors and nurses. But I respect them. I truly, really respect them for doing their best to save someone they don't even know. That's why, I'll be the same.

I'll be the one to save someone before they die.

—

The Bitter Girl: Shokuhou Nozomi

—

Can we not go there?

No, I wasn't joking. I don't like to talk about the past. It's useless.

Nothing will change even when I talked about it to other people. Why would you make a difference? Don't give me some excuse like 'understanding me', 'rehabilitation', 'post-traumatic counselling.' I've been through and through with all that crap.

Alright, if you really must know…

The Tokonosu Great Fire Incident. Y'know, that fire that burnt down three apartment blocks, billions of yen in damage, and took a day and a night to put out? Well, I was there.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped giving shits about the people around me. All you adults claim that high-rise living is safer with new technology, fireproof building materials, and lotsa bells and whistles installed. Well I can tell you, it looked pretty on paper. In reality, it sucked. The smoke detector was only installed in your apartment, not the corridors outside where you were much more likely to catch a whiff of smoke. The sprinkler system had been tapped off by some homeless dudes, and all your high-tech water pressure sensors didn't realise that. Or maybe they did, and the guy that switched them off every week grew so tired of their warnings, he stopped giving a _***censored***_ about it. Machines ain't the problem, _people_ are the problem.

People are the reason this whole damn fire started in the first place! Your recycling bins, parked right next to some dude's antique petroleum motorcycle. _He_ insisted the thing was safe, that it wouldn't cause problems! The schoolboys who found it a convenient place to smoke and toss their butts into the bins, _they_ didn't think one more butt would hurt! Hell, the guy who maintains the smoke detectors hadn't ticked off and updated his checklist for weeks now! Weeks!

You call it a catastrophe? No. The fire was a massive _***multiple words censored***_! All the systems were in place, but where was the people? They were busy huddling in their offices, surfing the 'Net and watching videos secretly on their Neuro Linkers, looking busy only when their boss looked! Why else do you see so many office people hitting the malls early now? Our parent's generation weren't born to work hard when they were raised comfortably, no! That was Generation Z, the generation of slackers! The bootlickers, the procrastinators, the people who believe money would come their way as long as they put in the minimum amount of effort!

So what was the result? Well, let's see. (Holds up fingers) I was trapped and burnt, I lost all my hair. Mom got cut off trying to reach me, she only survived by hiding in the bathroom, throwing open the window, and hunkering down in the bath. Dad inhaled too much smoke and is now on medication for the rest of his life! Tatsuya, my older brother, was at university having his silly parties, bless his arse! And… And…

SHOKUHOU HANAKO. MY DEAR YOUNGER SIS. DIED.

(_A five-minute break was called to console the sobbing, distraught Nozomi_.)

Alright… *_hiccups_* where was I?

God bless the firefighters. Without them, I… No, at that time, I thought back and believed, 'I shouldn't be alive.' They risked their lives for mine...everyone else's...

It's not fair. Hanako didn't stand a chance at all. She was in her room sleeping with air conditioner switched on, and listening to music… If only, if only she had been wearing regular earphones instead of the Neuro Linker, if only she hadn't turned the air-con so low, she might have felt and heard the flames before it was too late…

…

Do you know my family lost everything in that fire? Well, almost everything.

(_She runs her fingers through her long, luscious raven hair, tied in a ponytail_.)

I couldn't grow any hair of my own, they said. My scalp had just taken too much damage: they could graft skin from elsewhere, but the hair follicles wouldn't magically grow on their own. Guess who they took it from… Yeah, you guessed right. Part of Hanako lives on with me everywhere and anywhere. I never cut my hair or tie it up if I can, I just trim it until the most tolerable limit the school will allow. They don't understand anyway.

(_Student regulations permit untied hair to be no longer than shoulder-length. Nozomi's hair,even when tied up, reaches all the way to her waist_.)

The rest of me wasn't too badly burnt. They just had to regrow my skin from whatever was left to rebuild my face. You see the 'miracles' technology can work? (_She gestures to her face_.) I don't look any different from before the fire.

I still don't sleep well at night. Sometimes, I wake up in fire. Other times, I'm playing with Hanako, and then everything goes to hell when she tells me she's 'just going to take a nap.' I wish I could have been the one who died instead, but that would have made her disappointed, right?

So instead, I sometimes daydream that I'm her angel stuck on earth, waiting to fend off the next fire and save her. Sometimes…

—

The Devoted Boy: Ichijo Tatesuke

—

…I don't know what to say, honestly.

You want me to share the deepest, darkest things I keep inside myself? If I have to answer, I'd probably say… It's my imagination.

I remember this old, old film my dad watched with us when I was a lot smaller. Lots of men in black suits and guns, in some post-apocalyptic world, able to login to some virtual reality to fight, just like _that program…_

(_Tatesuke stops mid-sentence and coughs._)

Sorry for the digression.

Anyway, one of the quotes from the bad guy really stuck to me. That guy… He said, 'The purpose of life is to end.'

I was just a kid, learning the ways of life, wondering what happens to everybody when they grow up and whatnot. That really chilled me. It wasn't that I misunderstood the quote or anything, but it just made perfect sense:

Mice, growing up to look for and gather food, will only end up squashed by some kid, poisoned by traps or pest control will catch them.

A puppy under the care of even the kindest owner will eventually grow old and die before his owner has even hit his twenties.

Humans… We'll end up in jars. All that's left will be your name and ashes.

But things weren't bad, not until the night my dad never came home.

No reason was given. No warning. Absolutely nothing. His stuff is still untouched in his room to this day. Calls went unanswered; his 'last seen' date on WhatsUpp remains, to this day, the exact same time and date that he got off from work.

In hindsight, it's probably just me scaring myself. Because I used to wake up at night drenched in a cold sweat. The dreams always change, too: sometimes, I see him climbing into a graveyard. I might see him buy a plane ticket. Once, I was dreaming that Dad was lying in a crater, a tall, faceless man sneering over him, grinning before he deals the final blow.

Even during happy occasions, I could be observing something as mundane as the cherry blossoms in spring, and suddenly compare one falling petal to Dad, wondering if he too, had fallen as quietly and simply as one of the blossoms-

(_Tatesuke stops speaking abruptly. His hands have squeezed his forearms hard enough to leave marks._)

Life is full of suffering. And the more Dad is away, I want it to end. I don't just want it to go away, I wish there's a happy ending for everybody.

I want an ending where Dad comes home and stretches out on the sofa. We'll have dinner, play a game of chess, and he'll put me to bed when I'm too tired. I wish those happy times can exist again.

(_Tatesuke rises from the chair to leave._)

There's nothing left to say.

—

The Apprentice: Tsuboi Ryoutarou

—

Have you ever seen children fight, Ms Morihara?

No, I'm not referring to the play-fighting that young children engage in to resolve little quarrels and arguments on the spot. Like, when real bad shit goes down and both parties agree to settle this out of sight of the Social Security Camera. I've seen my fair share – come on, all guys talk with their fists and think with their ass at some point in time. Their hits are all sloppy, there's no footwork, no leveraging on their bodyweight to increase the weight behind a punch.

Even those in martial arts at the school level aren't that much better. Technique? Form? Beauty? All those things they emphasise is for _showmanship_. It's a battle for points, a technical victory. The skill behind the hands is just a fallacy. If you put the old me up against a real murderer, as you know actually happened, I… I will admit, nine out of ten times, I'll lose the fight instantly. The top-ranked _kendoka_ in the Tokyo rankings, losing? Yes.

That's because a real killer, a true fighter, is completely different. When he clenches his fist, he does so knowing he's standing up for a lot more than a petty quarrel. When he draws his knife, he does so knowing he's not going to keep it until that knife has drawn blood. Warriors take up arms with the intent to kill. That's why we students are no better than performers, playing with mockups and always playing it safe behind the high walls of the enforcers of law. We're sheltered and coddled. Soft and pampered. I thought I knew everything, and that night I found out I had nothing.

Hino Jinsaka. Male. Age 37. He committed a string of crimes when he was younger, but you and I would remember him for something else: the murder of three bodyguards and the attempt on *_name withheld*_'s son. Why and how he did it has no meaning to me. Okay, maybe that was useless: since you're here, you probably know more about him than me. I'll just stick to what matters…that when he escaped from prison, and set off on his bloodstained journey, his first stop was my home.

I was just seven then. It had been a hard day of training the previous day and I was dead tired. My arms were sore, I was thirsty no matter how much water I drank, and I craved for a night of uninterrupted sleep. But I simply needed some water; it was around 2 or 3 in the morning when I got up to get myself a glass of water.

I downed the first glass sloppily, some of it spilled onto my shirt. I refilled my glass and enjoyed a second, slower and more controlled. And… And… When I turned around to get my third glass, I heard the window break.

Even though I had just drank two glasses of water, my mouth went dry. As quietly as possible, I put my glass in the sink and tiptoed to the dojo, retrieving my wooden sword. I didn't take the bamboo sword I used for practice; I took the heavier, solid wooden _bokken_. If there was an intruder in our home, I thought of causing the most harm possible. My arms protested at the heavier load placed on them, but I thought, this isn't training. I'm not going to have to swing this a couple hundred times!

All was quiet in the house. I strained my ears to catch something, anything, while making sure my own footsteps didn't make so much as a peep. I peered down every hallway, treaded across the noiseless floorboards, wondering if the sound of my hammering heart would give me away… I thought, maybe I was just mistaken and it was just a stray cat. A human couldn't be this quiet, they'd make some noise, like breathing or walking.

I found the broken glass, a little pane set in a long hallway with a view of the garden. No matter how you looked at it, the hole was far, far too small for a human! That's what made me let my guard down. I let out a sigh and lowered my sword… and then, _his_ hand shot out from nowhere and clamped over my mouth!

I sucked in a breath reflexively – took in a lungful of tepid leather and the tang of a polyester jacket. I struck back, trying to elbow my attacker, but that was when he pressed the edge of the knife onto my throat.

'Don't move,' he had growled. The consequence of not doing so was clear as day. What could I do then?

'Drop the bokken, and lead me to the kitchen,' he had ordered. 'I'll slit your little neck if you try anything funny.'

'Scared' doesn't describe me well enough. I was.. I was _terrified_! I just did as he told. The slightest hesitation, the smallest slip… I know what was expected of me, but at seven years old, does anyone truly realise how frightening it is to be held at knifepoint in your own home?

He took the knife off me before he raided our kitchen. He was busy taking everything and packing it into a duffel: water, dry food, instant drinks, and of course, Mother's prized set of ceramic knives. It was taking his time and attention to pack and fit everything…

I should have done something. His back was to me, the biggest mistake you can ever commit in a kendo competition. Potential weapons were everywhere: the iron pot on the stove, a discarded rolling pin tossed aside so conveniently at my feet, or I could have picked up his own knife and stabbed him right there and then. But I did nothing! All I did that night was to silently stand by and watch him rape our kitchen.

He knew this. He knew that I was too terrified to do anything, not even scream. Once he was done, he just chuckled:

'Such a well-mannered boy.'

He didn't even slap or punch me or anything! He just pushed the door open and left, just like that, while I stood by like a statue!

…

What happened afterwards isn't important. The thing was… I realised, for all my pride in my skills, all the talk about how I was a true son of Tsuboi and everything, it was all crap. I couldn't walk my talk. Just a useless vase that looks pretty. Indeed, the first thing Dad did after checking I was okay was to give me a slap and a round scolding. Facing Dad in the years afterwards was ten times worse than seeing Hino Jinsaka in our home.

The old man still won't talk to me much. I know full well I've brought shame to ourselves by emerging unscathed. It's not just a Tsuboi thing, but if you have samurai blood in you, a weapon at hand and danger before you, you damn well better react! It's a cold, hard logic you can't run away from. I had my chance to step up and take responsibility for my home and the Tsuboi name, but blew it big time.

The News Club took this quote from me saying that winning the next inter-school championship means nothing (because I was gunning for Nationals, of course). But turn it around: I mean what I said even without context. It's weird, but if Hino Jinsaka could just come back and pay me a visit, I'd fight to the death to prove myself. I'm no longer an innocent child after that night; the only important thing to me now is defending my home, taking the hits like a man, and above all, upholding my honor as a son of Tsuboi.

—

Ryoutarou sighed as the door of the office shut behind him. It was deeply uncomfortable, no matter how much Ms Morihara encouraged him to, to share to an otherwise complete stranger the details of the most traumatic incident of his life.

But there was always a group of friends whom he could relax his guard and just be himself in their company.

Nozomi smiled, the fatigue barely noticeable in her grin. Tatesuke glanced at the door, shrugged, and clapped his back. Mikiseki just beamed.

Ryoutarou took in a deep breath. The air seemed fresher indeed, or perhaps it was just the company of his buddies? Regardless, he already felt better.

"-Nobody mentioned anything about _that_, correct?"

Three heads nodded in succession. "There was no need to bring it up anyway," Tatesuke said. "It would have just invited more questions."

Nozomi shrugged. "Same."

"Alrighty," Ryoutarou clapped his hands together, "The Salted Caramel, Daily Scoop, or Japan's Very Best after school?"

"Salted Caramel!" Mikiseki practically shrieked.

"Daily Scoop. 'Nuff said!" Tatesuke grinned.

"Ryou…" Nozomi snarled, " You _promised_ me you'd take me to Ben & Jerry's last week!"

Not for the first time, Mikiseki and Tatesuke exchanged identical knowing looks while the colour seemed to drain from Ryoutarou's face. _L__ooks like this one ain't our problem now!_

"We- We'll catch you guys later!"

"Seeya. I got training, bye!"

No sooner than Mikiseki and Tatesuke had reached the bottom step did Nozomi spectacularly blow her top off. Her indignant yells echoing all around them, they waited until they had reached the first floor before glancing at each other and bursting into silent giggles.

To any observer, they would be forgiven for thinking that they were a couple. But as Gunsou walked by and caught sight of them, he knew it to be something else: the laughter of friends in perfect sync.

Unlike himself.

—

Misawa was busy with her dance team training again, so Gunsou went home alone.

He had practically memorised how long it took to execute each task he carried out daily after school. Ten seconds to take off his socks and shoes for slippers, five to reach the kitchen and check the meal he would cook. Preparing the easy stuff takes ten minutes. Twenty minutes for slicing the vegetables, meat, and filling the rice cooker. After the rice was started, the bones and fat were to be used for soup – today was chicken ribs. After a further ten minutes of preparation, stirring, and final touches, all that was left was to leave everything to simmer while waiting for Misawa to come home.

Again.

Gunsou sat down heavily on the sofa and cracked open a can of soda, lapping up the sweet drink in a brief respite from work. The floor needed sweeping soon, either today or tomorrow…

Gunsou awoke to the sound of the door creaking open. From the small gap, a small voice floated through:

"…'m home… Ahh…"

With a yawn, Misawa ambled through the entrance, kicked off her shoes lazily, and headed for the dining table. At the sight of her shoes lying around, Gunsou clucked his tongue.

Silently, the two teenagers took their place at the dining table. "Thanks for the meal," they muttered in unison before tucking in.

Silently.

A sense of emptiness gnawed at Gunsou that refused to be satiated by the food. The way it felt so familiar…_bothered _him.

Just as Misawa polished her bowl clean and consumed the last drop of soup, Gunsou spoke up quietly.

"Uh, Misawa?"

"What?"

His eyebrow twitched. "Could you… Put your shoes back later?"

"Well, why?" Misawa looked at him, raising one eyebrow.

"Because, well… isn't it untidy?"

"If I'm going to wear it again tomorrow, what's the point of keeping it nicely?"

Gunsou bit his lip. Her logic was maddeningly convincing, irritating even! It was as though Misawa knew how exactly to tick him off.

"Help me keep them, will you? I'm tired out from today, c'mon!" Placing her plates in the sink, Misawa stretched from side to side and stifled another yawn. As her shirt lifted up ever so slightly to offer a teasing look of her tummy, Gunsou's eyes flicked towards her sides-

"What are you looking at?!"

Snapping her hands down to tug at her uniform, Misawa blushed crimson for a brief moment. "Go away!"

And so she stormed off before Gunsou could get anything out. The bathroom door slammed shut and a deafening silence descended upon the house. A short while later, the faint noise of rushing water was heard; Misawa was filling the bath, probably for another long, hot soak.

Gunsou looked down at his nearly empty bowl, as though trying to drown himself within the dregs of cold soup.

It's going to take ten minutes to wash up everything, he thought.

—

The Tired Boy: Kihara Gunsou

—

I don't know when it got like this.

We're now just… so cold. Dinner used to be a time to relax, chat about school, and maybe talk about Brain Burst. Maybe not really the last one, but you know. We talked.

Now we hardly say anything to each other. Heck, Misawa didn't even talk to me when she moved out of our room!

She now sleeps in this new room we 'created' by cutting the living room in half. The partition is thick and soundproofed, and all I can hear at night is the whirring of her air-conditioner. That's right, _hers_. The one we used to share has now been given to her.

If I need to blame anybody for making my mornings so darn cold, it's her. She took herself and the warmth we shared out of our lives and made it hers. I mean, I can tear myself up for all I want to, but I let her take it. We just had to stop arguing, or Mom would give hers up just to settle our dispute, and that couldn't happen.

I'd like to think that that patched up our relationship, but if only life was as simple as sharing an air conditioner.

Different. That word sums it all up, we're different now. Misawa is in 2-A, President of the Dance Club, and adored by all her friends and teachers. She argued successfully for an exception for her red hair – one of the few times she asked me for help recently. Now she's strutting up and down school with her beautiful red hair that I no longer need to dye black.

I miss how her hair smelled like.

As for me? I'm just a straggler. Always trying to reach the top from 2-B, always trying to get into top 5. All I've got to show for it is a faint sense of familiarity: you know how there's always that one guy who's good, but not that good? Me.

I'm not that good in Track & Field either. All I've got to show for it is running, and I'm not so sure about that anymore. Some 1st years have showed up and they're showing promising timings. When I go to the gym, every guy there lifts heavier weights, does more reps, and crunches more numbers faster then I can.

Everybody is better than me. Everybody. Even Misawa.

I'd like to tell myself, my effort paid off well. I fed Misawa. I cared for Misawa. I provided for her in ways no fourteen-year-old can possibly think of. Like, have you ever had to shop for your own ingredients, cook your own meals, and clean your own house? The default response is 'Mom,' 'takeaway,' and the new robotic darling on the market, 'Voomba.' Well, I say you all are a lazy, oxygen-sucking, bum. Strawberry kids. You should be wearing diapers if your age matched your ability.

Problem is, these bums and babies are getting more girls and attention than I am. And I can't even talk to my own sister.

(Misawa isn't your sister, y'know?)

Very convenient, Mr. Voice-of-Reason-in-my-head.

All this is proof that for all the good I do, I get back nothing. And I'm tired of getting nothing back!

There's only one way I can vent my frustrations. In a world where I assume a different name and body, I can let it all out on the pretext of playing the game.

I lie down on the sofa and close my eyes. There's this one guy who started showing up recently. I only knew about him because Misawa started crying after she fought him. I don't know anything else except that he's scary enough to do that, and two or three others who fought and lost against him. I'll break his winning streak today, then.

I take in a breathe and exhale the magic words:

"Burst Link."

**_BASHIIN!_**

—

DEMONIC CITY STAGE (NIGHT)  
>CODE NAME – RULES OF NATURE<br>FIGHTERS: GULF BEAST VS TURQUOISE DURO

The moment Gunsou's eyes met his opponent's his experience already told him this would be one of those enemies you meet once in a while. Just as there are Burst Linkers with great positive force that drove them to seek new heights, there were also fewer players who fought under the urge to become stronger and compensate for their weaknesses no matter what was the prize.

Gulf Beast unmistakably was in the second category.

The moment they met at the road intersection after three minutes of looking for each other, no words or any form of greeting was exchanged. They were both Level 4 veterans, who had fought countless duels just to make it there. Both were close quarters fighters whose only weapon were their bodies, clad in heavy, reliable blue-coloured armor.

Turquoise Duro was the larger one, clad in reliable clear blue armor styled vaguely after a combination between a knight and a boxer which shone brightly even in the middle of the sickening green mist that covered the alien city that was their dueling field. Gulf Beast was far shorter, his armor made from the pelt and skin of various reptilians and mammals far less reliable, yet there was something that was sickeningly dangerous about him.

Measuring each step they took, they ignored the clamor of the less expert Gallery members for them to quit staring and begin wrassling.

-"No hard feelings."

The voice that came from beneath the helmet sounded years younger than the wisdom necessary to send such a powerful message with so few words. To the controller of Gulf Beast, the background, the friends, the path Kihara Gunsou had walked up to that point was devoid of any meaning. To him, the only thing that ever mattered was taking more Burst Points, for whatever purpose he had in mind, and for that he would not hesitate to use his empty hands and willingly inflict suffering upon the person in front of him.

As far as he cared, Turquoise Duro was a walking Burst Point dispenser.

-"Hey. Do you recall someone named «Cul Artillery»?"

This time, the voice that filled the empty air was Duro's. It sounded far less wise, yet it somehow sounded more mature, more reliable than the hate-filled, power-hungry Beast, who simply shrugged as though saying, 'As if I remember the bitches and idiots I beat up everyday.'

For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then, a Gallery member who up until then had stayed silent, laughed loud because of some funny comment the other guy, Lucky Lunatic, had said.

As though this was the starting signal for them, Gulf Beast shot forward like a hungry predator, his fists clenched and rocketing for his prey-!

Turquoise Duro, who was already an expert on the subject of nasty kicks and sucker punches to quickly end a fight, placed his fist to block the incoming knee aimed towards his abdomen.

But, it appeared the enemy had already planned for such, because-!

Faster than he could react, a straight that seemed like a deep black bullet smashed right into his nose. Rapidly adopting a pose like a professional boxer's, Gulf Beast thrust his left fist, obviously intending to shave off as much health as possible from him while he still had the momentum.

It was evident that in terms of skill and mercilessness, Turquoise Duro was outmatched. In the first twenty seconds of the actual fight, 10% of his Health Gauge had gone down to just regular attacks. His old, Level 1 self would have been scared, backed off and merely think about fleeing the fight.

However, he now had something no amount of despair and cruelty could shatter.

The clear blue armour on his torso and neck quickly detached themselves, and rapidly slid off towards his head as his enemy retracted his right fist to launch a powerful straight. And just as the fist flew towards his face, he _headbutted_ it with all his might.

_CRACK!_

A single cry of pain from Gulf Beast filled the silence of the Gallery.

Using this opening and without needing to think about it, as his left leg spun towards his opponent's face for a reverse roundhouse kick, his leg and abdominal armour moved towards the point of his foot, adding weight to his kick as it was executed-!

_THUD!_

Even if it was a mere blow to his shoulder instead of the head, Gulf Beast emitted a satisfying groan of pain just from taking it. Recovering from it quickly, he attempts to use the opening Duro just left to dash in and punish him by attempting to pin him into the ground: gathering all the strength he can muster, he leaps at Turquoise Duro's legs with the strongest kick he had unleashed to his unguarded, unprotected leg.

But.

As soon as his kick made the impact, he understood why he stood no chance of winning like this.

The plates on his left leg and chest had quickly slid over to his right, forming a potent defensive layer as well as support, preventing him from falling over. A sad, hollow _thud_ was all Gulf Beast had to show for it as his foot was deflected.

The reason why Turquoise Duro's combat style was so simple to read was because there was no need for refinement nor sophistication, all thanks to that sliding armor. Whenever he wanted to guard a specific spot of his body to endure a blow, it would concentrate in an area. Whenever he wanted to hit as hard as possible, said plates would increase the power behind his blows as they were being executed.

Turquoise Duro firmly took every last blow Gulf Beast launched, without signs of suffering damage. As he painfully realized, Duro's armour enabled him to protect the spots the guard of a normal fighter with secondhand experience couldn't with ease, allowing him to put offensive pressure on Beast.

At the same time, Turquoise Duro had no need to create momentum for his attacks. Whenever he desired, his armour would instantly boost the force and momentum behind his punches, kicks, and headbutts. While Gulf Beast had to ensure the timing and distance between them was the right one as his feet moved frantically from one spot to another, trying to seek the perfect balance and position to strike, Duro had not even moved two to three centimetres from the spot they'd began to spar at.

Beast desperately went for a neck hold from behind as Duro missed a punch, but as his elbow was about to hit his naked abdomen, a single stray plate softened the impact.

"Dammit!"

Such was the power of Turquoise Duro's ability, «Saint's Fist». An ability granted to him by the system at his moment of adversity to protect that which he desires to protect, even if it meant striking down those who would hurt his loved ones with lethal force.

This ability granted him a convenient reserve of both offensive and defensive power at his beck and call as he needed it, allowing him to easily switch between attacking and defending as it was necessary.

Just like his real life self, Turquoise Duro was the essence of the element of 'Earth'. As if he were a millenarian tree, the blows launched against him were staunchly taken. And as if he were an avalanche, he mercilessly struck down those who dared hurt his dear sister!

Grabbing and pinning Beast's right fist with his left hand, his right hand's fingers dug into Beast's throat and squeezed at his windpipe. Lifting him into the air, Beast's gauge slowly draining away as he struggled, Duro locked gazes with Beast's slit eyes.

"I'll have you know who you beat up. Cul Artillery. Rhenium Jet. Gorse Theory. You don't remember them."

"But _I_ do."

Saying that, Beast was painfully thrown to the ground, and soon experienced what it felt like to have a heavyweight Duel Avatar use his concentrated weight to backflip mid air and strike the midsection of your abdomen! Clutching his guts, he turned in an attempt to get back on his knees, but a rapid kick to his center of gravity prevented him from moving at all.

The disparity between the two fighters was evident. Turquoise Duro's Health Gauge was well above 85%, while Gulf Beast's was already at 60% or below. All he had to do was sit there and wait. Even so, something was amiss.

At this level, he should have at least-

-"«Fell Stinger»!"

He couldn't believe his eyes. From the bottom of Gulf Beast's back, a full scorpion's tail had emerged, and its stinger was stuck between the cracks of his armour.

-Slowly injecting poison into his body-

_THUD!_

As his muscles lost their strength and he helplessly collapsed to the ground, Gulf Beast slowly crawled away and once he recovered from his injuries, ran off towards one of the buildings.

For a few seconds, he saw his Health Gauge go down by 1-2%, but apparently the poison's main effect was paralysis. But if Gulf Beast had ran off, that meant it wouldn't last very long either, at least not long enough to give him an edge.

Then, what the hell was he planning?

After approximately 30 seconds, his muscles finally responded to his orders and he got up on all fours, still feeling mildly dizzy. Managing to stand on one knee, he finally realized what'd been the purpose of this action.

As he'd been away, his opponent's Killer Gauge had done nothing but go up as time passed.

The Gallery had surely noticed too by that time. Misawa, no, everyone, had offered to give him advice on his style of combat, but this time his pride had gotten the best of him and thus he chose to face this enemy alone, without any prior information.

Which, as he soon realized, was a terrible mistake.

-"Yo. You've pushed me around for a bit."

There was something different about Gulf Beast now. Instead of standing upright, he spread his legs while stretching his neck in the direction of his prey, like some sort of reptile.

"But."

The effects of the poison finally vanishing, Gunsou's trail of thought allowed him to quickly deduce the following.

If this was the same kind of enemy that'd left Misawa crying…

The same enemy not even Gorse Theory's prediction could forewarn of…

The same enemy Rhenium Jet's incredible speed could not overwhelm…

And given how he'd fought up to now, he and Turquoise Duro were very different avatars. While Duro was strong from the beginning, as his Duel Avatar's name implied, Beast was like a predator. Instead of having a consistent performance output, his combat style made him weak from the beginning…

-"IT'S TIME TO LET 'ER RIP! «RAGE MODE»!"

_With enormous instant bursts of power._

Currents of dark energy flowed across Beast's body, as his muscles rapidly grew, tearing at the tattered armour he wore. His neck extended towards the front, and his head changed into that of a dragon's, growing a new set of jaws and razor sharp teeth fashioned after a shark's. His arms transformed into powerful claws, able to rip out throats with ease. His back hunched as the muscles of his back grew in size to the point where a lesser man would be crushed by his hug.

When the transformation was complete, the smaller Gulf Beast had become something out of a nightmare. A komodo dragon's head, a set of legs from some sort of oversized bird, a tail like a whip and claws of a reptile. It was like one of those monsters from VR games.

Only that in this case, beneath his eyes, one could clearly feel a human being controlling the abomination, and not a programmed A.I.

"Let's **_GO_**!"

And thus, the monster charged forward.

Despite its grotesque appearance, the Avatar's physical fitness had increased to the point where he could easily match most speed types with brute explosive strength alone. Duro readily raised his guard, preparing for the impact of his fists, but-

Beast's arm twisted like a snake as its joints dislocated, targeting his side with enough speed to make him drop his guard for a few seconds. Then, like a spring, his right fist cocked forwards like a bullet, making a clean impact against Duro's jaw.

_WHAM!_

Feeling like it had exploded into pieces from the sheer pain, Duro predicted a one-two sequence of impacts and moved most of his armour towards his arms and chest in a desperate attempt to block the incoming blow-

It was then when he painfully understood the nature of Gulf Beast's true power as a melee Duel Avatar. The moment he deflected the incoming fist and was readying his counter attack, the mouth of Gulf Beast opened wide, revealing jaws able to snap steel apart like a twig-!

_CLANG!_

Given only a few seconds, he was somehow able to place his plated arms between the jaws, preventing them from closing down. But then, his right fist relentlessly began to hit his exposed rib cage and abdomen, making him see stars with every rhythmic blow that shook his entire body.

Drawing his last strength, he managed to snap free and gathered all his plating into his right fist for an all or nothing attack. This fist was as powerful as a volcano's eruption, but-

He needed to believe. Believe that he was strong like the earth beneath him. Believe in his own strength. In his friends'-!

-"«VULCA-"

_CRACK!_

Beast's tail twisted like a whip, sending Duro flying like a ragdoll.

This was Gulf Beast's true, unfettered power as a Burst Linker. The power of his seething rage granted him unmatched offensive power and speed simultaneously, to the point where even a fellow melee-type Duel Avatar could be pushed into a corner. There was no end to 'Beast's' offensive array once he closed in.

If Duro had been a ranged type, he would probably be able to keep him at bay using long range attacks and damage him little by little. A yellow Duel Avatar would be able to use tricks to lower his offensive power. A green, such as Guardian, would have the necessary defense to take his blows head on and return them. A purple with both melee and ranged abilities would probably have what it took to win this match outright.

But, Gunsou knew deep inside that false narratives led to nowhere. All Duel Avatars alone have the same potential at the same level. That was an absolute rule that could never be broken. Which meant that anyone facing Gulf Beast would be in the same predicament.

Also, that all this offensive power must come from somewhere else.

His Killer Gauge was empty, which meant that it wasn't a Limited Activation skill. There were no signs of an Enhanced Armament.

Turquoise Duro's gauge had descended to less than 40%, while Beast's remained at a solid 60%, more than enough to win the match. Yet Beast instead of attempting to run, charged forward enraged, ready to continue the fight. That behaviour was unusual, especially for someone who fought only to earn points.

Why was that?

Could it be?

If he was wrong, he would lose. But, at this rate, he would lose anyway, so it was worth a shot-!

Jaws snapping and thirsting for blood, Beast took a step and propelled himself airborne in a single bound to collide with Duro. Grappling frantically, Duro was forced to take a step back as he desperately tried to arrest Beast's momentum – and failed!

Beast pushed him flat on his back and opened his jaws wide. His claws held down Duro's right arm- and Duro pushed his free left fist against Beast's abdomen, screaming a technique name with his eyes closed:

-"«FLICK RAMMER»-!"

_SLAM!_

Every plate he had rushed to his wrist in a split second, gathering into a heavy mass akin to a battering ram, blasting Beast clear into the air to fall back to Earth. Letting out a feral roar, Beast rolled to his feet and lashed out with his tail to counterattack- or tried to, because Duro wasn't there anymore.

Beast looked around just in time to glimpse a blue-green silhouette vanish into an alleyway.

-"You COWARD!"

But all the wrath in the universe wouldn't bring back Turquoise Duro by sheer will, and so Beast lept to his feet and gave chase. The first hint of anxiety entered the pit of his stomach, nudging his mind with a single, terrifying thought:

-What if I can't catch him in time?

Beast came to a four-way junction, his ears flattened to catch even the slightest sound.

-the right!

Swishing his tail about as he hunted, Gulf Beast sped down the alley. His breath came ragged, his chest ached from the exertion. But the fleeing footsteps of Duro drew closer and closer with every leap he made; soon, Beast knew, soon. Turquoise Duro may have bested him with a little trick, but no more.

-"Shit!"

Beast rounded a turn and found Duro trapped in the alleyway's dead end. Vainly, Duro raised a hand to defend himself.

-"This is it!"

At last, Beast lunged high and drew his fist back, tail swinging 'round as his quarry turned away in fear-

*clink*

Duro opened his eyes.

Gulf Beast was transforming- no, that's not the best way to describe it. _Everything seemed to be shrinking back_: Beast's claws were retracting back into their gnarled hands, his legs were rapidly shortening to their original length and form, and his skin's texture was reverting to its animal hide-like appearance. His neck slowly lost its elongation and the snarl on his jaw seemed to literally slide off his face as his teeth vanished.

It was the right choice to run, after all.

"No… No, no, NO!"

Beast defiantly roared and threw a punch for Duro's face. But just as he feared, Duro's chestplate quickly slid up to block the blow, while he didn't even move a muscle.

Shifting his armour to his hands, Duro grabbed Gulf Beast under his shoulders and lifted him up with his superior strength. Bit by bit, Beast's Health Gauge was shaved off as he struggled uselessly within Duro's grip.

"Gulf Beast. Truly, the name 'beast'… 'monster,' it really fits you."

"Now I see your strengths, as well as your weakness. How you beat all those other guys who too, gave me a hard time in the past, I understand."

And with a mighty heave, Duro threw Beast across into the nearby wall, taking satisfaction in the dull _CRACK_ of Beast's body against the ultra-hard walls of the Demonic City Stage.

"Now, I'm gonna give you a choice. Either you run away, and don't find me nor Cul Artillery again, or you fight and I'll bring you down," Duro said, "If I were you, I guess… I wouldn't go looking for trouble."

It seemed a tempting offer to Gulf Beast. To save his face and walk away from one fight to live another day was a chance he never had before. And Turquoise Duro made it sound like he wasn't going to duel Gulf Beast ever again. Probably in his eyes, Duro hoped this was the last time their paths would ever cross.

Which only proved to Gulf Beast that he was feared. Just like everyone who knew of those bullies' fate in the past, and steered clear of him ever since. True power was right **here** at his fingertips, and just because he loses one fight doesn't mean he isn't strong!

No one ever has the right to humiliate him by offering mercy!

So he crouched, and sprung forth-!

"UUWOHHH!"

"«Vulcan Punch»."

-straight into the rocketing fist of Turquoise Duro!

_BOOM!_

Beast managed to twist at the last second to avoid a full-on hit, though the explosion was still strong enough to fling him to the ground. As he rolled around, he came to realise his left arm lay some distance away, blood-like spark effects emanating from its end. The pain seared through his body, hot and sticky, but he refused to let it out. The only cry a beast can make is its war cry, he believes-

-and Turquoise Duro challenged that belief by planting all of his weight into a thrust with his knee into Beast's chest. The pain of cracked ribs forced his head back, and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

"This is over. I'll end you just like how you duelled Cul!"

"What a coward."

Putting all his remaining energy into his right arm, Beast reached up and clawed at Duro's face. He managed to pull off a single plate of reliable blue-green armour until Duro grabbed his wrist. His faceplate half-exposed, Duro's yellow eyes bore into his own.

The only weapon left for Beast was his mouth, so why not abuse it anyway?

"You're the same bitch as I am. Wanting to gain power. Wanting to be feared. Wanting to have _control._"

"No need to act surprised. This… This is already your true colours."

Beast smiled sinisterly as Duro's eyes widened.

"You..!"

_CRACK!_

And so Gunsou quickly brought the duel to its conclusion. Beast's smile seemed to linger on even after his body burst into multicoloured pixels.

**[»YOU WIN!«]**

-No.

-I won the battle…but lost the war.

The real world returned too quickly for Gunsou; his senses returned and he became aware of the painful reality of sitting down on his sofa. Misawa had not been there to spectate his fight, she might never know firsthand how and what it had took for him to defeat Gulf Beast 1 on 1. His hands were noticeably trembling, and it couldn't be because it was cold. Gunsou dug his hands into his pockets and stood up.

-Don't say I didn't do anything, you hear?

Silently moving his lips, Gunsou treaded towards his room to begin more mundane tasks. This duel was tiring enough.

—

Across the road, a young teenager wearing a hoodie with a baseball cap pulled low stared at what appeared to be mere empty space. Unseen by anybody save himself, two points blinked as he overlapped them on a 3D schematic of the buildings and the road.

One dot was labelled 'GULF BEAST.' The location was: the bus stop opposite the street. The teenager glanced over and blinked-

[[IMG 0275 SAVED]]

The AR window flashed once and faded. Lest he attracted the attention of Gulf Beast's controller, the teenager quickly turned his attention back to his diagram. The second dot was blinking high up, and its real-life location would be…the twenty-fifth floor of the apartment complex nearby.

His work here was done. The probability of finding Turquoise Duro was good enough. The teenage closed his windows and walked away, melting into the night.

**tbc.**

.

Well, here it is! The first chapter of Episode Two, out with new troubles, old friends & enemies, and frenemies? Not everything is quite in place yet, but I definitely have one goal in mind: that the real and virtual world affect each other very closely, with a heavy dose of angst.

Oh, and while this is essentially an original story, are there any of the original characters you would like to see, and why? I have in mind some ideas for the lesser known supports, but shall I say, _convince_ me. Heh.

Till the next chapter!

-Tusjecht


	2. Chapter 2

Did they intend for fights to become the interchange for gossip to change hands, for news and information to be exchanged? It doesn't cost Burst Points to spectate a match - why is that so to begin with? You're freeloading on somebody elses' duel, and you get to leave with no cost whatsoever. Was this foreseen?

I know that in the old MOBA games, you could even stop the spectators from typing messages, but you can't stop spectators from writing on chatboxes. And here, all it takes to pass along information is one loudmouth who's willing to speak his mind. Both players have to agree to kick him if they're not busy tearing out each other's throats.

I'm just an ordinary player, don't mind my opinion. It's just that this little aspect of Brain Burst bothers me.

_-Gorse Theory, a Level 4 player affliated with the circle 'Odysseus Matis.'_

—

Gunsou was on the bus.

The usual faces were there, the early morning crowd of students, their eyes seemingly staring at empty space, or tapping away in midair. Watching videos and short films on the Neuro Linker had become something of a safety hazard of late; the screen wasn't as translucent as the rest of the windows and therefore blocked a great deal of the user's vision. God help the idiots who watched movies on fullscreen.

Gunsou looked out of the window; a blank whiteness stared back at him. It went on and on for as far as he could see. Strange. He turned to look at Misawa in the adjacent seat, but she wasn't there either, she was nodding off in the back row. His brow furrowing, Gunsou turned to look at the rest of the commuters. One boy looked at him, an eyebrow rising. His eyes were red and the pupils slit like a starving predator.

Gulf Beast's eyes.

_Wham!_ Panicking, Gunsou lept to his feet and promptly smacked his head on the bus' ceiling. Gulf Beast's controller was right here! Was he here for a rematch? He turned back at the corner, but Misawa was gone. Another bus had pulled up besides them. Gunsou glanced at it just in time to glimpse a head of flame red hair, Misawa smiling and chatting to a faceless person while they sat down together-

Gulf Beast, or the boy with his eyes, was gone. Everyone save for Gunsou had vanished.

The bus braked and Gunsou, still standing up, tripped and stumbled down. With a rattle, a handful of small, white objects clattered and rolled about the floor. Dice? More white objects spilled out as Gunsou opened his mouth. Raw fear crept up his back as he put two and two together, feeling the inside of his mouth with a finger. He blinked, not believing the scene-

He was lying in bed on his back, staring at his featureless ceiling. Saturday morning. There was no school to go to. Gunsou put his whole hand into his mouth and bit down, hard, just to feel for his teeth.

A wave of nausea struck him. Nearly tripping over himself, Gunsou made a beeline for the bathroom and made it just in time before he lost it.

—

There wasn't much that he could vomit out from yesterday's dinner, but Gunsou nevertheless felt like he had had his stomach turned inside out. Something about the nightmare made him feel creeped out by the mere sensation of his teeth; ten minutes couldn't pass by without him running his tongue over them nervously, or simply touching them to make sure they were still there. His hands flew over his holographic keyboard, typing in a search result: "nightmares."

He flicked through page after page of results. They were either too general, describing types of dreams in rough strokes, or they were inundated with endless popups and advertisements. Gunsou backspaced, thought about it, and then hit the keys and entered in a new search term:

"dreams about losing your teeth"

This time, the results were much more specific in bone-chilling detail. The more Gunsou read it, the more he wanted to stop reading and get moving.

The loss of teeth representing powerlessness.

Symbolising communication issues.

And the one that made Gunsou's stomach do a backflip: personal loss.

Gunsou swore under his breath.

"Heard that."

Blinking sleepily, a woman emerged from the master bedroom, tying her raven hair back into a ponytail. Gunsou bowed his head and turned his gaze down to the floor. "Sorry, Mum."

Kihara Mayumi clucked her tongue. "You'd better not be playing those online games again, you hear? They teach you all sorts of bad things. Swearwords. The way of the _otakus_ who stay shut up at home all day and waste their lives on games."

"Yes, Mum."

Mayumi placed a finger under her son's chin and forced him to look up at her. Her iron gaze searched and found what she was looking for in a millisecond. "You've been at those games last night, weren't you?"

Now Gunsou really had to stand up for himself: "No, Mum. It was a-"

"Nightmare? That's what they all say. The kids that turn up for work always give this excuse, but behind my back they go yappin' away about their matches last night."

Gunsou closed his mouth.

"That's what I thought," Mayumi turned away and took her seat at the head of the dining table. "Make yer'self useful, son. Coffee, please."

"Yes, Mum."

At age 37, Kihara Mayumi still worked and pushed herself as though she was ten years younger. Being a personal fitness trainer was her latest, most stable job as of late, and it kept her fit and active. The downside was that it kept her on a six-day work week, including her Saturdays afternoons and Sunday mornings.

She took one look at the steaming mug and frowned. "Gunsou, _half a cup of water._ How hard is that? You should never make instant coffee with a full cup. It just kills the taste. If you drank coffee like me, you'd understand."

Gunsou felt like he knew his mother less with every coming week. "Mom, you wanted a full cup last time-"

"That was with _two_ packets. It's too much for me now! I'll get all fat and dumpy. Are you willing to take responsibility for ruining your mother's figure?"

"No Mum." A fresh cup of coffee was on the table in two minutes. Misawa's door slid open and she ambled out, yawning as she stretched and shook off the grip of Saturday morning. Then her eyes fell on the rejected cup of coffee.

"Can I have eggs and toast with that?"

Gunsou groaned.

—

After his mother left for work, Gunsou started on his homework. It was slow work, and he struggled with the physics. He had to find the flight time of a projectile, given its initial velocity and the point where it had landed at, but he could have made more progress throwing a shoe and measuring the time taken. He was getting desperate too.

"Misawa? Could you help me with this?"

She was lying down on the sofa, but she was working too, typing an essay at top speed. "What is it?"

"I figure a question on projectile motion is right up your area of expertise."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? You ask me a question like that because of that? Geez, grow up." She sat up anyway and tapped at a new window.

"Direct Link." They murmured in unison.

The room disappeared, but their bodies remained. A fresh virtual space loaded; Misawa's template, customised to support a real artillery cannon with an accompanying range. Gunsou couldn't help but marvel at the detail of the replica - it was exactly like Misawa's gun in Brain Burst. Cul Artillery's main armament.

"Obviously, this is way more powerful than the question being posed, but things can be scaled down," she remarked. "I can customise it further..."

As she spoke, her hands flew over a virtual console. The cannon rumbled as it repositioned and aimed at a long white runway. Black lines appeared on it at regular intervals. Range markers. Misawa tapped in a final command and a shell was loaded into the gun.

"How'd you..." Gunsou began.

"Get the cannon? The otakus Mum loathes so much were more than happy to supply me the data for a replica." Misawa grinned. "A few tank enthusiasts play BB too. Dropped me an anon mail address, and it was done."

Gunsou frowned. "BB has an in-game chat?"

"Nope. Just talk to them, y'know? The guys watching from the Gallery. You know you have supporters, don't you?"

"I..." Gunsou trailed off. "I never paid attention."

"Exactly. You could have finished Gulf Beast with a lot less pain and trouble if you knew."

"What is this, a scolding?" A familiar sense of disquiet rose within him. "Are you telling me how to do my things your way now?"

"No, but you're starting to listen and think less," Misawa said acidly. "You took on a reckless duel and nearly lost it just as well-"

"I. Won." Gunsou stared at Misawa. "What does the rest matter?"

"I'm sorry, but it does. Do you think the end justifies the means? Nobody knew how the fight actually ended, you took it out of sight of everybody. And I'm not saying it was a good thing."

"Well, I had to choose!" Gunsou said. "Do you think you can keep a straight mind when you're being chewed to pieces?"

"I don't have to get all close and personal when I fight. Back off." Misawa looked up at Gunsou. Her hand twitched.

"Oh, so now you get personal too, huh."

Misawa shrugged. "You asked me if I could do this," she gestured at the mockup gun and range. "Fair game."

The chill between them could have frozen the air itself. Gunsou racked his brains, wondering when did Misawa become so... So distant.

The dream from this morning floated in his eyes. Misawa, changing buses. Buses...

"Solve it yourself," Misawa said quietly. "You can figure it out."

Misawa's avatar disappeared in a starburst of pixels, leaving Gunsou all alone.

—

Gunsou completed his homework in cyberspace, only stopping to fix dinner. The moment he had washed and dried the dishes, he retreated to his room and locked the door, not daring to say anything else to Misawa.

She nibbled at a stick of ice-cream. Whatever he was doing, it couldn't be healthy for his state of mind. She wasn't in the best of moods nowadays, however, so she knew that scolding him outright would have crossed the lines she drew for herself.

She could talk to Gunsou because she knew him, but she couldn't understand him anymore. Not alone by herself.

Right on time, the front door swung open and Kihara Mayumi staggered in, tired out from the night classes she taught. "Hey, girl. What time is it?"

Misawa chuckled. She couldn't look serious with ice-cream in her mouth anyway. "Nothing, just can't get to sleep yet." She cast an eye over Mayumi's shirt, darkened with sweat. "Kickboxing?"

"Pilates," Mayumi shook her head. "I had to stand in for one of the girls. She took the day off without telling anyone."

"Ouch. No wonder you were late, Mum."

Mayumi flicked hair out of her face. "Things happen. What about you?"

"Actually, Mum... I want to talk to you. Y'know?"

"Get me a drink first," the older woman headed for the bathroom. "Yourself too, and put that ice cream in the fridge." She winked before she shut the door.

Ten minutes later, Mayumi sat at the couch sipping her iced tea. "Sit down, Misawa," she gestured. "If I was going to eat you, I would have done so last week."

Misawa grinned and took her place. "I need to ask-"

Mayumi held up a finger to silence her. "Tell me something first. Is he playing games at night?"

"Well... yeah, I guess." Misawa said. "Not for that long, though. He's a little mad at me for telling him off."

"Figures." Mayumi knocked back the rest of the glass and started for the kitchen. "And how long as he been doing this?"

Uh oh. Misawa didn't exactly know just how long they had been playing Brain Burst. Was it worth it? "Uh... he took it up casually at first, but he's been playing more often lately."

"This isn't the answer I'm looking for, dear." Mayumi uncorked the bottle of wine and poured herself a half cup.

"A year or so." she admitted. "Casually, but a year."

Mayumi returned to the sofa with both the bottle and glass, downing half of it in one go. Purring in satisfaction, she refilled the glass and eyed Misawa. "Wanna try some?"

"Uhh..."

Mayumi's face flushed pale pink as she chuckled. "You can't anyway. You might end up telling me more than you'd like to."

"Well, at any rate, it's about time you and I started talking, girl." she set down the bottle and leaned back, setting an arm around her adopted daughter. "When I was your age, I already knew why I was bleeding myself silly every month because I-"

"Wait, you know?" Misawa interrupted. "How? What is it?"

"Shhh." Mayumi took a sip. "Is he asleep? Go check on him."

Gunsou's door was locked, but Misawa had left something behind when she moved out; a tiny camera left inside the digital alarm clock by his bedside. It was Mayumi's gift to her on her birthday for reasons she only understood now; right now, it showed that he had fallen asleep on the floor, sprawled out as though he had been sitting in a fetal position.

Misawa nodded. "He bathed before you came back anyway."

Mayumi drained her glass and set it down, her cheeks full of the stuff of life. "Alrighty, girl, this is our girl talk now. Fire away."

—

Misawa learned a lot that night, enough to keep her awake at night longer than any cup of coffee could.

The more Mayumi drank, the more she explained, and she damned near finished the bottle that night. She answered the younger girl's questions in great detail and explained it just the way she needed it: why Misawa had begun menstruation, why her feelings for boys were changing, why Gunsou himself was changing. Kihara Mayumi may not spend a lot of time at home, but she spoke about Gunsou as though she had been watching him for every hour of his waking life.

"All guys go through that phaaase," she had slurred. "They suddenly think that they're the MVP, the man the whole friggin' universe needs, and everybody should be afraid of them. Respect them. The less they know, the more they think they know. Honestly, nobody at that age talks about himself quietly."

Misawa was astounded at how Mayumi was spot on. "When do they get out of it?"

Mayumi's answer was as depressing as it was enlightening. "It depends. Some people realise they have to fit in, so they fit right in, burying the silly side of themselves and coming clean. You also have the man-children, the otakus, staying in their rooms watching kid anime because they're too afraid of facing the real world. In all my years of telling men from the boys, I can say for certain that nobody - nobody ever falls in between."

Misawa wasn't sure if she was just drunk, but it was painful to know that Mayumi had never said anything about a definite date. She had asked about Gunsou's father, the man she had never met.

"Oh, he was a good guy. Good to the girl that loved him the most; problem was, he mixed up work and play." Mayumi had stared Misawa right in the eye as she spoke. "He thought she was loving him by listening and solving his problems. So he couldn't say no straight to her face when she asked him to go."

Misawa's heart lept to her mouth. "He... He doesn't know, does he?"

Mayumi had shook her head. "And don't you breathe a word about it to him. He's as weak as his father; can't stop once he's committed, no matter how retarded it is. Taking responsibility? Owning up? He has his father's stubbornness through and through, and I'm afraid it will kill him one day, if this little story doesn't break his mind first. But I am still his mother, and he will have to listen to me. It's ironic that he will listen because if he's his father's son, he wouldn't trust someone he barely sees. Did you know that Daiichi and that girl had been seeing each other for two years?"

"Who's Daiichi- Oh. His father."

She had nodded. "That's why it hurt so much. He had the balls to marry me, give me my son, and buy this house with cold hard cash, but he couldn't come clean to me that he had an _investment_ in another girl," she spat out the word like a curse. "That's how he said it."

They had fallen silent for awhile after that. Mayumi sipped at her fifth cup of wine, then suddenly reached over to hug Misawa. It was strange, feeling the older woman's warmth, enhanced with alcohol, nuzzle at her in such an intimate way. She may not be drunk if she could speak like this, but Mayumi was definitely far from sober.

"I'm sorry to tell you, dear, but you're going to have to deal with Gunsou by yourself. Men only realise something is wrong when they're told straight in the face."

"But how? I need your help, Mum, I don't-"

"You will find a way, Misawa. Tell me, do you want him?"

"Gunsou? Well, of course I do."

"No, you don't understand. When you become a young woman, and Gunsou a young man, are you willing to have him with you for the rest of your life, the way he is now? Would you want a man like him to be your husband?"

"Wha- No! Of course not! It's too early to talk about that kind of stuff!"

"But I'm telling you, that's the kind of man he will become if you sit here and do nothing about him. You cannot let him continue to think he has authority over you."

That had shut up Misawa. There was no way she could last with him if they quarrelled like this all the time.

"You and I know that Gunsou cares a lot for you. He may not look like it, but he is very unwilling to let you go because he mistakens his stubbornness for dedication. If you like another boy and decide to go that way, by all means, go! But Gunsou will not let that go unpunished because he still thinks he's too important to be put down. You and he share a complicated relationship - I won't pretend to know all that there is about you two, and that's why you have to step up and stick it to his face. And you had better do it _soon_, or he will be a wound you can't get over in the future."

"You're telling me to run away," Misawa had whispered, horrorstruck. "Just go and leave him behind?"

"No. Don't make the mistake his father and I made, dear," Mayumi had shook her head. "It's very simple. Let's say you love him and would like to be with him; you will die trying to love him the way he is now. If you know your heart doesn't lie with him... Well, you will have to fight the battle sooner or later."

Mayumi's parting words had left Misawa part terrified and part encouraged. The revelation kept her awake well into the night as her words bounced around in her brain.

Until she had been made aware of it, she only believed that Gunsou could just be her caretaker. Someone who sheltered her until she got big and strong enough to fend for herself. Unfortunately, she had failed to consider his feelings, not like this. The events that had happened after the fight with Guardsman Railgun couldn't even hold a candle to Mayumi's words.

She had to seriously consider that Gunsou's actions weren't out of duty, but of love. And however little she knew about it, the way Mayumi had spoken to her left her with no doubt that unrequited love left deep and terrible wounds. And to think that Gunsou might hold some of that in him... She couldn't face him the same way she did before.

Spectators to the climax between Gulf Beast and Turquoise Duro had informed her that Duro - Gunsou had amputated Beast's arm before caving in his face, an uncharacteristic finish. Her in-game buddies had been dead serious when they told her they had never seen Duro fight the way he had; a raging force of nature. Perhaps it was her fault for letting things become so bad, for foolishly hoping that things would never change. But the fate of Gunsou's mother and father had deeply impressed into her the urgency in talking to Gunsou.

Without realising, Misawa realised her fingers had curled into a familiar shape by pure muscle memory. A gun grip. A piece of equipment unique to her duel avatar, her weapon and her tool. 'Stick it to his face,' Mayumi had said. The answer was right there before her. _I'll do this on Monday,_ she thought.

—

Monday almost took too long to come. Sunday had passed by like a snail, and the accompanying stress nearly made her break down. It was a good thing that Gunsou and herself were both shut up in their rooms studying for the year-end exams and didn't see each other much. All day long, she had worked out a plan, and it all depended on this morning while they took the bus to school.

The ward of Bunkyo was a hotbed for duels. There was no real explanation for it, it just seemed to be Burst Linkers from regions all over Tokyo would come over to duel, as you might realise after watching the Matching Lists for awhile. Some names were regulars who probably attended the nearby schools, and others sporadically appeared. Misawa had already become familiar with some of them: the shy and clever Gorse Theory, the local speed demon, Rhenium Jet, and even other female players like Lemon Progeria.

That was what she was counting on. Cul Artillery and Turquoise Duro had made their names for themselves after the duel against Guardsman Railgun, and as more people followed them, the speed at which news travelled accelerated as well. Even moreso the case for juicy bits of gossip. A revelation such as Cul Artillery, turning on her longtime partner in a one-on-one, was sure to be the fattest thing to have ever reached their ears yet.

The question was, could she do it?

It wasn't a question about power; Misawa had worked her way up to Level 4 just like almost everyone else now. With her powerful weapons, she was both fast and strong, poking her dueller with the pistol and then delivering 37mm of death in a package no bigger than the palm of her hand. Investing the first two upgrades she gained from levelling up gave her the ability to fire her cannon six times in ten seconds. Her Level 4 upgrade had given her weapon wheels and an engine: a quad bike with the gun mounted on the back, and retractable legs that wouldn't lower themselves any faster, no matter how much she had studied it. The gun could flip the whole contraption over end-for-end without the supports, as she had learnt painfully.

Misawa checked her watch: it was exactly 7.30AM. The morning duels and the rush for 'First Win' was going to start now.

She turned to Gunsou, his eyes closed in a light sleep, and touched the button on his Neuro Linker to switch it on. And as he had always left it, switching on the device would automatically connect him to the Global Net. A quote she heard in literature surfaced to the forefront of her memory: 'All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players...'

"Eh? Wha-?" was all Gunsou could get out in surprise. Misawa clenched her fist and summoned her strength: "Burst Link!"

_**BASHINN!**_

"Misawa, what are you doing?!"

Gunsou's mental acceleration was part driven by Brain Burst and part by adrenaline. On the edge of dozing off after a long night of revision, he thought Misawa meant to wake him up to alight the bus. But then- _this_ happened!

Assuming his duel avatar, and entering a new duel stage. Coming to his senses to find the barrel of a gun staring him squarely in the eye. And worse, this is the morning peak period, when everyone scrambles for the extra thirty Burst Points earned by winning their first duel of the day. He can see them out of the corner of his eyes, a dozen or two multi-coloured duel avatars walking around, staying just out of earshot. Their voices murmur as one.

"..."

Misawa - Cul Artillery just stared desperately at him. As though willing him to see through them and read her true intentions. But...what is it?

"Did I do something wrong? Was it yesterday, when we quarreled?" Gunsou asked. The green eye lenses of Cul Artillery merely gaze at him silently.

"If so," Gunsou slowly whispered, "I'm sorry. P...Please forgive me." He held up his hands - Duro's thickly-armoured hands - in a gesture of surrender and bowed his head, not daring to break eye contact with Misawa. The corner of her mouth twitched, as though about to say something-

"You bloody idiot."

_Bang!_ A single round was fired and deflected off Duro's head; a single plate of reliable blue-green slid back into its place. "Don't you know?" Misawa said.

Duro shook his head. "Know what?"

"You don't know why we're fighting!?"

Misawa suddenly shrieked and unloaded her clip into Gunsou. Not willing to become target practice, Gunsou pushed off as hard as he could, letting Saint's Fist take care of the ones he couldn't dodge. Bullets whistled past his ears and arms as he hopped this way and that, putting distance between them.

"Look, if this is about the quarrel the other day, then-" Gunsou ducked as Misawa tried for a headshot, "Then I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pick a fight with you or anything!"

_Click._ Misawa reloaded her gun and took aim. "This isn't about that quarrel, but you're getting warmer. Get up."

"I still don't understand what you're doing! I mean, if this is for training, then I guess it's kinda redundant because you're strong now...so what is it?" Gunsou backpedaled and ducked behind a solid-looking glass pillar.

"That was a lie, _Nii-san_. You're not saying what you believe in." Misawa came to a halt a good ten metres away. Through her distorted image in the glass, Gunsou realised she had lowered her gun.

There was no clearer indication than now that she was dead serious. "What part is it that you're saying I don't believe in?" Gunsou asked. His voice was slow and controlled, but his plates shuddered and shifted to his fists jerkily.

"When you said I'm strong. I know I myself am strong; you know my win rate. But I don't think that you truly think I'm strong." Misawa said.

"If you truly believe from the bottom of your heart that I'm strong, then why are you holding me back? Why are you suspicious of me making new friends, getting information the way I can?" Misawa spoke quickly, as though embarrassed. Gunsou too became acutely aware of a handful of spectators coming closer to eavesdrop.

"Look, let's take this up after school, when it's more private," Gunsou said. Already he could hear whispers of _siblings_ and _fighting_ here and there among the audience. "If you want to talk, I'll talk to you-"

"Stop running away!" Misawa cried out, "I want to talk to you and I want to talk NOW!"

_Bangbangbang!_ The pillar shuddered and collapsed. Gunsou threw himself sideways, dropped into a roll, and jumped to his feet in one smooth motion. He clenched his hands into fists and brought them up before his face, then slowly lowered them to his waist. He couldn't fight Misawa, he just couldn't!

"You're always like that, Nii-san," Misawa firmly declared, "Running away and ignoring the real problem, tucking your head in and covering your ears, waiting for someone to come along and solve the problem. You're not taking action!"

"What do you know?" Gunsou cringed. "Do you think I can solve every problem for you?"

"Not every problem," Misawa said, "But you're ignoring the biggest one, and it's right before your eyes."

A nagging thought tugged at Gunsou's mind and he quashed it. He couldn't think about her. But Misawa continued to stare at him, a small smile beginning to play over her lips. "I mean, if I may assume that solving problems makes people happy, then I should be the happiest girl on Earth, isn't it?"

"SHUT UP!" Gunsou roared.

A curious mix of emotions swirled around in him. Guilt for shouting at Misawa, and yet...satisfaction? The tension between them was immense.

"I... I don't know what's gotten into you lately," he lowered his voice, "But this is not the way to have your problems addressed. Agree to a draw and we'll settle this later with Mom."

Misawa tilted her head to the side. "Do you honestly think Mum is on the same level as you? She has every right to treat us as a child."

Misawa tightened her grip. "But you, on the other hand..."

Something within Gunsou finally snapped as he finally saw what Misawa was hinting at all along. She didn't want him in her life anymore, that's what! Oh, the injustice! Had his years of sacrifice counted for nothing?

"...Come to think of it, it was already there from the day Tate- I mean, that guy Direct Connected with me," Misawa hastily changed mid-word, "You were so protective. No, that's not the word... You're jealous. You're possessive and naive."

It took all of Gunsou's willpower to not strike Misawa right there and then. "So what about it? If you wanna talk about last year's stuff, then how's this?" He jabbed a finger at her, "Didn't you make a huge fuss too when I got Connected with that girl? You're one to talk!"

Misawa shook her head sadly. "I entered the Connection of my own free will. But you... You were attracted to her, weren't you? You let yourself be seduced by that girl!"

"No, I did not!" Gunsou yelled, "I mean, she was helping me, and- and, well, er..."

Game over. Gunsou felt as though a vise grip had closed itself around his chest and squeezed hard. Beaten on all fronts, back into a corner. He barely took notice of the many whispers surrounding them. There was no denying it: for a brief, confusing period, he had followed every word Mikiseki had given him without stepping back to think about Misawa's feelings. Neither had he thought that way when he had confronted Tatesuke in the canteen.

At this point, Gunsou couldn't tell if he was more ashamed of having been seen through so fast, or that it was because everyone was watching him, waiting for his next move. A handful had turned their backs tactfully and left. Kudos to Misawa for picking the duelling field as the setting for their private argument...which begged the question again, _Why?_ She had to have a reason for all this.

"My request is simple, Nii-san," Misawa said softly, "You will fight me."

Gunsou's head shot up. "Wha- No! No, I can't fight you, I won't do it!"

"You will," Misawa said, "And you will show me your full power. Your true strength. I want you to hit me as hard as you did when you fought Gulf Beast."

"If nothing else, I want... No. I need to show you that I'm not weak anymore. I'm not a girl to be sheltered and protected. I'm... I'm a _woman_," she tilted her head back and pointed out her chin, "I do not have to depend on a guy to tell me what I can and can not do."

Gunsou dropped to his knees speechless. To think that this is the same girl, the same Kitamura Misawa who came crying to him all those years ago...

When he realised it, she was already standing before him, firmly gripping his jaw and turning his head up to meet her gaze. A slight tremor ran through her hands, but her eyes held a will of iron behind them. "We don't have to fight now. After school, three 'o clock. Outside school, where everyone can see."

And Misawa added in a whisper, meant only for his ears, "I didn't grow up to see you become weaker than me, Gunsou."

She let go of him. A semitransparent window appeared in his vision: **[[»DO YOU DRAW WITH CUL ARTILLERY?]]** Sluggishly, Gunsou raised one arm and touched the 'YES' option.

The confirmation dialog flashed and vanished, taking the duelling field along with it. For the first time in his life, Gunsou wished that he could just disappear like that as well.

**tbc.**

.

Author's notes:  
>Hello there! Welcome to the second chapter of Episode Two!<p>

A lot has been flying through my head the past few weeks, I set the bar high for myself, trying to pull off another 9000+ word chapter, then decided I was going nowhere at 3000 words and changed it, and then put it on hold. I read a few good novels, then realised, if I can get to the point asap, what's stopping me? I had to hurry anyway; I'm going for outfield for the next two weeks and there's no chances for good, quality writing.

Y'know what's the beauty of the setting? This whole time Gunsou and Misawa have been arguing in Brain Burst, their bodies in real life probably haven't even moved an inch. They'd just go limp for a second or two, and then snap back to attention. If you weren't paying attention, you would blink and miss it. Brain Burst lets you cheat the 24-hour clock for such an absurdly low cost, letting them argue 'in public' and head off to school as usual, except that they know that things have changed.

I'm still not sure why I used 'Nii-san' instead of 'brother' this time 'round. 'Brother,' or even 'bro' has never sounded right to me, not when I wanted to figure out how to address Gunsou without using his name. 'Nii-san' just seemed to have the right feel for this setting: intimate enough to signal Misawa's conviction and a reminder that they are really just cohabiting, brought together by circumstance and luck. Now, it's going to fall apart by design.

At this rate, I won't be done by Christmas, I guess, but oh well. :/

-Tusjecht


End file.
